Nurse Addison was taller than Caroline, square-shouldered, with a laugh that sounded like music. She could be tough if she had to be, but gentle too. She really cared about the patients. Most of the attendants were kind and caring, but Caroline had also known others who were devious and cruel, and made the patients sicker than they were when they came in. She didn't like to think too much about it. It was not so bad in here now though.
"Your cab's here, honey."
She could only nod as she preceded Lynne through the big doors. She would not have been able to speak past the thickening in her throat.
Lynne gave the taxi driver directions and waved goodbye to Caroline, whose face reflected the fear of a child set adrift on an ice flow. She'll drown, Lynne thought, as the dark cab rolled slowly down the narrow paved road like a car in a funeral procession. Despite the blush she'd added, Caroline's face was ghostly pale in the back window. When her hand rose in a small wave, Lynne's heart contracted.
No way in hell is she going to make it out there on her own. I should have given her my home phone number. She'd thought of it. But her phone would be ringing off the wall if she gave every patient who was discharged from here her phone number. Joe would end up leaving her out of self-preservation. She couldn't be held responsible for what happened to patients after they left her care, could she? She was already stressed, what with her mom being diagnosed with Alzheimer's. For that reason, she was glad to be retiring. Her mother needed her now. Mom, always so vibrant, so mentally sharp, now often seemed confused and vague. One didn't have to be a psychiatrist to know that she was terrified. The fear was in her eyes. She knew what was happening to her. The phone call earlier was from a neighbor who happened to look out the window and spotted her mother wandering in the middle of the road and rushed out to bring her back home.
I have decision to make, Lynne thought. But not yet. Dear God, please not yet.
The taxi was gone now, and Caroline with it. Even Lynne's own personal sorrows were not enough to allay her fears for the child-woman who had just been cut loose from all that was familiar to her.
I'll check on her, she promised herself as she envisioned the lost teenager she'd been when she was admitted. She's much better now, Lynne told herself. She wouldn't have recommended her for release if she didn't believed that.
Escaping the chill morning air, she went back inside the building. It seemed so quiet here now. There were far fewer patients, so fewer staff. The place was emptying fast since the bureaucrats decided to close it down.
Three
"Pretty fall day," the cab driver said over his shoulder, and Caroline jumped at the sound of his voice and turned around in the seat. She'd been looking out the back window, watching the prison-like structure of Bayshore Mental Institution, gray and sprawling against the cornflower blue of the sky, grow smaller and smaller. The man's voice had startled her. But for Doctor Rosen, no man had spoken to her in a very long time.
The cab driver's shoulders were wide in a maroon blazer of some soft material. His hair was a mass of gray curls and he wore dark sunglasses; she could see them in the rearview mirror. She couldn't see his eyes but knew he was looking at her, waiting for her response.
She must say something. It wasn't like he'd asked her some difficult or personal question, only commented on the weather. Speak up, Dr. Rosen had told her. Hearing your own voice strong in your ears will give you confidence.
"Yes," she said. "Yes, it's very lovely."
She settled back in the blue-gray plush seat, enjoying its soft, luxurious feel. The car smelled of new leather, pleasant and mildly reminiscent of something that nudged the edge of her mind. Ah yes, William's leather jacket.
William's leather jacket.
So long ago.
Outside her window, the maple trees flashed by in shades of gold and rust and scarlet, bright as in a Technicolor movie. A few leaves borne on the wind, danced past her eyes.
"You been away a while?" the cab driver asked.
"Yes. Nine years."
His head turned slightly in her direction. He shook his head. "Long time."
She said nothing. Folded her hands on her lap. Then she unclasped them and ran her fingertips along the plush arm rest.
"You like music?" the cab driver asked from the front seat.
"Yes, sometimes. I like Frank Sinatra. And Ella Fitzgerald."
"Ya got good taste, kid. Didn't figure anyone young as you would even remember the great ones."
She felt warmed by his approval, and began to enjoy the drive as he switched on the radio and turned the dial until he found a station that was playing blues. She liked that. And jazz, too.
Martha Blizzard had some old LPs in her room and would sometimes play them for her: Ella Fitzgerald, B.B. King, Louis Armstrong's recording of Blueberry Hill and others. She even had an old record by Billie Holiday. It had a crack in it and skipped, but Martha would just give it a little tap and it would play fine again. Caroline could feel that music deep down inside herself and sometimes it made her want to cry. But it made her feel good too in a strange way. Like Billie Holiday did. Like she was singing your blues too. Like she knew all about them, even better than you did yourself.
"Ain't Frankie," the cab driver said, "But not too bad, eh?"
"It's nice. Thank you." She didn't know the tune, not one she'd heard before. A man singing about a lost love. She knew all about that.
"My pleasure. I most always listen to music when I'm driving," he said. "Some people don't like it though, so I turn it off."
"I do. I like it."
He nodded again, seemed to smile to himself.
They drove past the park, and the sight of it tugged at an old memory. A woman was sitting on the green-painted bench watching two little red-haired boys running about in the grass. Yes, there was the fountain Nurse Addison told her about. The smell of grass on a certain summer's day suddenly rose up in her senses, overriding the leather smell of the car.
The cab slowed as they passed a small crowd of people spilling into the street. Two policemen were directing traffic. Yellow police tape was stretched across the mouth of an alley across from the park. Like a scene in a movie.
"What happened?" Caroline asked the driver, continuing to stare out the back window even after they left the scene.
"You sure you want to know?"
She turned around in the seat. "Yes, please."
He gave a brief nod. "Guess they wouldn't have let you out if you weren't up to hearing bad news," he said. "Plenty of it around." He hesitated. Then, "Young woman murdered. Body dumped in that alley there. It's the second murder in a month. The first was a nurse on her way home from working her shift at the hospital. Too late to be walking alone. Poor kid. There's talk about all those nuts being let out of Bay…sorry, Miss, I didn't mean you. No offense intended."
"It's okay. I don't mind."
He raised his dark-glasses and peered at her in the rearview mirror. "I got it on good authority both those girls had dark hair and blue eyes," he said. "Like you, Miss. Not trying to scare you or nothin' like that, but you wanna take care."
Four
The landlady was standing in the window when the cab pulled up at the curb and the young woman in a blue suit, stepped out. She looks a little lost, Greta thought. Poor little thing. She let the curtain drop back into place and hurried as fast as her heavy limp would allow, to greet her newest tenant.
Widowed for the last twelve years, she had learned to adapt to most situations, knew how to take care of herself. This house, which she had purchased with her deceased husband's life insurance, provided her with a decent living. She had a soft spot for strays, as long as they paid their rent on time and didn't give her any problem. And this one looked harmless enough.
She opened the door wide, a smile on her face. "You must be Caroline. I'm Greta Bannister, the landlady. Please, come inside. My, they didn't tell me what a pretty little thing you are. You hardly look no more than sixteen."
"I'm twenty-six," Caroline said quickly, panicked that the woman might not let her stay because she wasn't of age. She had no place else to go. Unzipping her blue bag, she rummaged in it for the wallet that held her birth certificate. "I have my papers," she said anxiously.
"No, dear, settle down now, please. I know how old you are. My goodness, I was paying you a compliment. Never mind. Come in, the wind is kicking up; you'll blow away. A beautiful fall day, though. Supposed to rain tomorrow. Already starting to cloud over. I'll make us a cup of tea and then I'll show you to your room. It's on the second floor."
She closed the door behind Caroline, turned the lock with a sharp click. "The washroom's at the end of the hall, same as on the floors above us. You probably noticed, this is a three-story house. Oh, I'm rambling, aren't I and keeping you standing here in the hallway. Come along. Just leave your bag in the hallway for now. Harold will bring it up later."
"Harold?"
"Harold's my nephew, he lives with me."
Caroline followed her through to the large kitchen which smelled of good cooking mixed in with another, less pleasant smell she couldn't discern, until she saw several cats eyeing her from various corners the rooms they passed. In the living room, lace doilies rested like crocheted shellfish on the arms and backs of sofas and chairs, reminding her of the parlour of her childhood.
Mrs. Bannister walked ahead of her, her ample bottom waddling unevenly beneath the navy housedress, imprinted with small white sailboats.
There'd been kindness in her face, and her hair was the color of the leaves on the maple trees they'd passed on her way here. Caroline felt much of the earlier tension leaving her.
In the big, cluttered kitchen, Mrs. Bannister motioned her to a chair at the large square table covered with a yellow and white-checked oilcloth.
Steam escaped the pot cover from the pot that sat on the cast iron stove, the source of the good smell.
At the landlady's invitation, Caroline sat down on one of the chairs, held her purse in her lap, and watched her bustle about tending to this and that.
"Did you hurt your knee scrubbing floors?" Caroline asked tentatively.
"What?" The landlady turned a puzzled look at her, then she chuckled as she took down two cups and saucers from the cupboard. "No, dear, that's not what happened to me?"
"Oh. I got water on the knee a couple of years ago from scrubbing floors at the hospital," Caroline said. She extended her right leg to show her. "They had to bandage it up and then they put me to work in the kitchen. I liked it a lot better."
"Ah. Well, I'm glad. No, I fell on the ice last year and broke my hip. Right at the bottom of the steps, wasn't watching what I was doing. Thinking about something else, wouldn't you know, instead of paying attention to what I was doing. Feet went out from under me and I landed bad. If someone had had a camera at the time they might have made a pretty penny on that picture."
Brown crockery Teapot in hand, a white daisy painted on its side, Mrs. Bannister hobbled to the table.
"Hurt like the dickens," she said, pouring the tea into the cups. "They're supposed to replace the hip, but I'm thinking I might just not bother. This one will probably last as long as I do." She gave a big horse-laugh at this, and Caroline dared to smile.
"You walk fast," Caroline blurted, too loudly, startling both herself and the orange cat who leapt from the windowsill, where a moment ago it had been curled up asleep. Now it looked up at her with disdain. She didn't blame the poor animal for being annoyed. Her voice had boomed in her own ears and apparently in the landlady's, too, from her expression, though it melted quickly into her easy smile.
Doctor Rosen said she should always speak up, but she would have to be careful about that, because you could speak up too much and frighten people. And animals. Make everyone think you were crazy.
"Not so bad," the landlady said, returning the teapot to the stove and sitting across from Caroline, acting as if her new tenant had spoken in a perfectly normal way. "Old legs still get me where I'm going. What's the matter, Sally?" she asked of the cat who had cautiously bounded back up onto the windowsill, but was keeping a wary eye on Caroline.
"I think I frightened her."
"Oh, posh, Sally's just shy of strangers. Aren't you, Sally. She'll be fine when she gets to know you better. So what was I saying? Oh, yes, I've usually got eight roomers in all. The bathroom's at the end of the hallway, same on all three floors, like I said. We're generally filled up, but the tenants do change from time to time. The room across from yours has been empty for quite awhile." She was silent for a few seconds, sipped her tea. Then, "Girl that used to live there was murdered. It was all the news this morning. Terrible thing." She shook her orangy mop of hair for emphasis, and went on. "People come and go. Everyone minds their own business. Don't allow no funny business, of course, you understand. This ain't that sort of place, so you don't have to worry your head about that."